I Could Not Stop For Death
by winter156
Summary: This is the way the world ends: Not with a bang but a whimper.


Pairing: Miranda/Andrea

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, don't own any of these characters

A/N: A short fill for **punky_96**'s prompt for the fic-a-thon on LJ.

* * *

**I Could Not Stop For Death**

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_Not with a bang but a whimper._

_-The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot_

_**1 hour after outbreak**_

"What took you so long?" Emily does nothing to hide the disapproval in her voice.

"I had to go back to Starbucks and get another coffee," Andy says absently, a shell shocked expression on her face.

"And here I thought you were passed the stage of dropping things," the redhead huffs.

"I didn't," the brunette's pace slows and stops, her voice bewildered, "Some crazy guy ran into me and knocked me over. Security grabbed him before he could do anything else." Neither assistant notices Miranda approach to hear their conversation. "He must've been high on something because he was pale, growling and moaning, and he was strong. It took two guys to wrestle him into handcuffs. And, he took a bite out of one of the security guards." Andy shakes her head trying to figure out what isn't adding up about what she witnessed.

"That is disgusting," Emily is aghast.

Andy hums in agreement. "The cops said people have been going crazy like that all over the city." The brunette stops and looks at the redhead seriously, "It's weird. And, that guy left me with a bad feeling."

"I'm sure the police will sort it all out," Emily waves off before telling Andy to get back to work.

Miranda takes her coffee without comment about its tardiness and moves silently to retake her seat. She turns her chair to the take in the view of the New York skyline. Apprehension grips her; something bad is happening in her city.

* * *

_**1 day after outbreak**_

The call connects with an imperceptible hum. Tension minutely releases from taut shoulders.

"Miranda," a yawn interrupts the last syllable. It's the middle of the night.

"I need you to prepare the Hamptons house," the editor spouts off, "Fully stocked for several months and for at least four dozen people. The boat needs to be available with crew ready. The hunting instructor also needs to be on hand. As well as every type of weapon you can think of for each of my guests. And, ammunition. A lot of it. The house staff need to prepare every room and do a grounds check to make sure the fences are secure. Also, make sure the security team is present and deployed. "

The assistant begins to form the sounds of a question but the editor speaks right over her, "The senior staff at _Runway_ need to be informed to be ready to move by morning, along with anyone they deem important to them. No more than two suitcases each. Essentials only. Include Serena in that number. Have Emily help you with the preparations. I expect everyone at the townhouse as soon as possible and ready to leave."

The editor can hear the rapid strokes of pen to paper.

"Andrea," Miranda's voice is urgent, the scratching of notes stops, "don't wait until morning to get this done."

"Miranda," the young woman's voice is laced with questions the editor doesn't let her ask.

"Be here. Quickly." Miranda ends the call abruptly. She moves with purpose to prepare herself and her daughters for departure.

Above the constant emergency broadcast she has tuned in on her television, the editor can hear the distinct pop of far off bullets.

In the distance, like a macabre lullaby, sirens run nonstop throughout the night.

* * *

_**1 week after outbreak**_

"_Some fear this is a major terrorist attack." _

"_The mayor declared the city in a state of emergency four days after the initial reports of unmitigated violence."_

"_The military swept into the city in force the following day."_

"_The CDC flew in experts two days after the state of emergency was declared."_

"_City wide quarantines were declared in affect five hours ago. No one is permitted to enter or leave the city of New York."_

"_There have been similar reports of quarantines in most of the major cities of the United States."_

"_The CDC urges people to stay inside and away from anyone exhibiting erratic behavior. These violent people seem to be infected with a pathogen of unknown origin."_

"_Violence has escalated as the city is locked down by the military."_

"_There are reports of cannibalism and outright slaughter."_

"_The death count is astronomical."_

"_International and domestic flights have been grounded until further notice."_

"_The President had declared the country in a state of emergency."_

"_The World Health Organization has declared a global pandemic."_

"_The dead aren't staying dead."_

"_There are reports from all over the city from eyewitnesses stating the dead are getting up, walking around, and feeding off the living."_

"_God help us…"_

Every day the news coming in worsens before each news station goes dark and stops transmitting.

Emily flips through every station on satellite to find nothing but static. Silence falls on the assembled group in one of the living rooms of Miranda's East Hampton home. Shock and disbelief steal everyone's words.

Nigel looks steadily at Miranda. The older woman sighs and moves to the center of the room. Her demeanor and absolute confidence calms the aggregated adults. She's specifically dressed to exude power and authority. Her black power suit and matching five inch heels convey talent and ability. Her entire self says _trust me, I can lead you_.

"Contact whoever you can," her voice is steady and sure, "warn them. If they can make it here, they are welcome. We need to consolidate resources and manpower. Everyone will need to pull their weight and do whatever it is they do best." Blue eyes zero in on her second assistant, "Andrea, you will make a list of the specialties we have present with us and set them up in the appropriate places in the house. I'll give you more direct instructions once I know what everyone does." The brunette nods and Miranda moves her eyes to her first assistant, "Emily, I need you to draft up schedules for learning self-defense and weapons training. Coordinate with the head of security and our hunting instructor." The redhead nods.

"The rest of you get some sleep. This house is isolated and defensible, we are safe for now. We will convene tomorrow and decide how to proceed." Miranda feels relief flood the room as she so deftly shoulders the weight of leadership. There are warm nods and pats of support and affirmation as people file out of the room to get some much needed rest.

"Just like the old days," Nigel whispers as he exits the room.

Miranda turns and meets a steady chocolate gaze. Her second assistant is the last person in the room. They move to the window in unspoken synchronicity. Silence surrounds them but it's not uncomfortable or awkward. It's the steady silence of companionability that doesn't need words to be true. Each woman stares out at the setting sun, their thoughts far from the beauty of it all.

The Hamptons are quiet but the world burns. The older woman is now responsible for fifty three souls; a number which is sure to increase in the next few days. She knows danger approaches; it is only a matter of time before it reaches them. The weight of responsibility settles more firmly against her.

A warm hand entwines hers. Sharp blue eyes look down then over to soft, brown eyes. The young woman anchors Miranda and quietly shoulders the heavy weight with her. Andrea's presence centers the older woman somehow.

The world is dying. But, maybe, she doesn't have to face it alone.

* * *

_**1 month after outbreak**_

"Oh god," Andy swallows the bile wanting to push itself out of her throat. She bends at the waist and tries to take deep breaths to slow her erratic heartbeat.

"I think He has long since removed himself from this situation," Miranda states calmly, kneeling to pull the knife out the skull she jammed it in. Beneath the cool exterior Andy can see the unusual paleness on the editor's features, the dark circles under sunken eyes, and the tightness of worry on normally relaxed shoulders. Miranda looks like she hasn't slept in days.

Despite her well concealed exhaustion, the former editor moves with the same efficient grace as ever. Brown eyes absorb how easily Miranda stabs the blade into the ground to clean the congealed blood before deftly holstering the weapon. Andy watches the leader of their ragtag group of survivors stand upright and finally notices how the older woman is outfitted.

Miranda looks like a guerrilla fighter or some secret black ops soldier. She's wearing black fatigues cinched around the waist with a utility belt that's holding the holster for the knife she stuck into the _thing_ on the ground. The pants are tucked neatly into sleek, black combat boots. And, a leg holster- holding a high caliber gun- is strapped securely to her right leg. There's no cap to complete the ensemble but the rifle slung hazardously over her left shoulder is a nice touch.

Andy stares. The complete practicality of the outfit, and its utter lack of embellishment, is antithetical to what she normally associates with the older woman. Miranda says something that the young woman doesn't hear as she moves closer to her.

Andy can't help but admire the image before her. Miranda could probably make a burlap sack look good. The older woman's white mane stands starkly in contrast to her outfit, and the blue of her eyes deepens against that contrast. And, the editor moves comfortably (gracefully, even) with the weight of weapons as if she's intimately accustomed to their shape and density against her. At the feel of hands gently pressing into her shoulders, the young woman jolts out of her stupor.

"Andrea," Miranda's tone is oddly gentle, "are you all right?"

The brunette nods, unconsciously moving her arms up to grip the older woman (in affirmation of her being real). Andy can feel the inspection of blue eyes over her. The perusal recalls to mind all the times Miranda would evaluate an outfit of hers with an almost intimate gaze. The brunette realizes the inspection being directed her way isn't the same as before; Miranda's eyes are creased in worry.

"Are you hurt?" The question is whispered even though they're now the only beings present. "Are you bitten?"

"No," Andy is quick to dispel the worry, "he surprised me but the grueling training you've put us through paid off. I think I could've dealt with him even if you hadn't come along."

"Good," Miranda's voice is strained, "Good."

Her fingers flex against Andy's shoulders as if she wants to hug her but is physically holding herself back. The brunette feels no such compunction and envelops Miranda in a tight embrace. She feels an immediate, and relieved, response as strong arms hug her in return.

They release each other reluctantly. The sun is setting and it wouldn't be good to be beyond the perimeter of the house after dark.

"He's dead," Andy says as they pass the prone corpse.

Miranda arches a brow but doesn't respond to the obvious statement.

"I meant before you stuck your knife in his head," the brunette proceeds to explain, "I knew logically that he was dead. I've been hearing it for weeks. But, it's different to feel no heartbeat on this _thing_ trying to claw my flesh open."

"You touched it?" The question is sharp.

"I had to," Andy doesn't understand Miranda's sudden tension.

"Are your hands cut?" The urgency in the question stops the brunette short.

"No," the young woman says slowly, her mind rushes to catch up to the implications of the line of questioning. "How did you know to stick the knife in his skull? And not some softer, fleshier part of him? Like his torso?"

"I've blasted a hole through one's chest before and it didn't stop it," Miranda elaborates as she resumes walking. "I quickly learned that whatever enables them to keep moving after they've died isn't in their chests but in their heads."

"When did you do that?" Andy's natural curiosity is piqued. "That was the first one I've seen around here. And, we left New York before the situation escalated."

"I haven't always been an editor, Andrea," Miranda answers vaguely, "This isn't the first time I've encountered these…creatures."

The young woman suddenly realizes the former editor is twice her age and she practically knows nothing about what life the older woman has lived. She feels an immediate and fierce desire to rectify that oversight; and so much more.

Reaching out, Andy grasps Miranda's hand halting her forward movement. "I could've died today." The statement causes haunted eyes to turn to her. She pulls the older woman to her, "Thank you for saving me." Andy's lips descend before she has time to second guess herself.

Miranda stiffens but when the brunette pulls away she buries her hands in long hair and pulls the young woman to her, kissing her desperately. They kiss like it's the end of the world and they may never get another chance. It's hot, hungry, and with the intent to devour.

"Is this because the world has gone to hell?" Miranda manages to ask between hard kisses.

"Yes," Andy hisses as pearly white teeth nip her bottom lip.

The older woman lays a gentler, softer kiss on the young woman before shifting so she can look at the brunette. Tenderly, Miranda traces kiss swollen lips with her thumb. "Was that affirmation?" The vestige of a smirk momentarily transforms sharp features. "Or approval?"

"Both," Andy smiles like she hasn't smiled in a month. "You're very good at that," she proceeds to have Miranda do a repeat performance, releasing her only when oxygen becomes a primary concern.

"All the old excuses are gone," the brunette murmurs into the space between them. She holds the older woman closely, intimately. It's been too long since she just simply held someone. It feels good to give into the impulse. "Society has disintegrated. There are no paparazzi to hound you about being with someone half your age. No empire for you to protect from scandal. No job for me to be scrupulously moral about. And your daughters are more interested in staying alive than who you share body heat with." Miranda listens quietly. "My parents can't disapprove," Andy's voice catches on the statement and the former editor tightens their embrace. "Money is worthless. And, you have no fame except that you're an excellent leader. So, I figure, what the hell?" Slender shoulders shrug, "I may finally have a shot with you."

Miranda cocks her head slightly to the side and eyes Andy with great interest. "And I'm sure the fact that flesh-eating, undead monsters roaming the earth, and the fact we can die at any moment, was a great courage booster."

"Zombies, Miranda. The word is zombies," she gives a crooked smile before her face straightens and hardens with seriousness, "But, yes, our imminent mortality is a damn effective shot in the arm."

"Indeed," Miranda agrees. Night is falling but strong arms pull the brunette down to her once more.

Death is at every corner. But, whatever is happening between them is worth doing more than scrounging for survival. It's worth living for.

* * *

_**1 year after outbreak**_

"This is going to sound a bit weird," Andy casually raises her gun and puts a bullet between the eyes of a zombie coming up behind Miranda, "but, you look _so_ hot when you're being all badass."

Two more silent bullets down two sluggishly approaching figures. Miranda pulls her knife out of a still falling corpse, throws it in the air, catches the back of the blade and flicks her wrist in one fluid motion releasing the blade. It zooms passed the brunette to lodge itself firmly in a decomposing head behind the young woman.

"Show off," Andy teases, "but totally hot and very, very sexy."

The grin the brunette is sporting widens as Miranda saunters over to her and stops with less than an inch of space between them. Miranda's tongue snakes out to moisten dry lips and Andy's eyes fixate on a lovely mouth.

"You are in a good mood tonight," the older woman delicately traces the young woman's prominent collar bones. The quick intake of breath her touch causes makes her want to smile. Miranda leans in, her mouth lightly touching the shell of Andy's ear, and whispers in a low voice, "Let's clear the house and I'll put you in an even better mood." Warm lips kiss the junction where the brunette's strong jaw meets her ear. "Breathe, Andrea."

Andy gulps in a large breath of air. The smell of decomposing bodies doesn't even register, all she smells is earth and Miranda. The adrenaline rushing through her veins is making everything sharper and more intense. Even the suggestion of the older woman touching her makes her ache with need. The scant space between them feels hot and electrified, heavy with intent.

The sound of a snapping twig echoes loudly in the clearing and instantly pulls their attention. Unconsciously Andy raises her gun in the direction of the noise, her finger readying to pull the trigger. When the brunette's eyes land on her target, she hesitates.

Noting the hesitation and the sudden tension pulling the young woman's frame taut, Miranda narrows her eyes at the ambling figure. Blue eyes widen in shock. And suddenly, without any perceptible change in temperature, all the heat is sucked out of the space surrounding the women.

The creature stumbles and falls. Struggling with stiff limbs that are half decomposed, it rises and rights itself. It begins moving again with single minded intent. It can smell the sweat and hot blood of living humans. The sound of frantic heartbeats resounds deeply inside its skull. Hunger claws at it; inescapable, all-consuming hunger. Its jaw hinges open and a guttural groan emanates from its decaying throat.

Andy's hand trembles.

Miranda's jaw tenses and she swallows through a constricting throat. She can tell the brunette is crying even without looking over to see the tears rolling down her cheeks; the way the young woman is breathing is telling enough.

Two sets of eyes watch the zombie's jagged movements become more pronounced in its approach. It's as if the creature is anticipating sinking its rotting teeth into tender flesh.

The brunette takes a deep breath and steadies her hand. A warm hand sliding down her forearm halts her finger from pulling the trigger. Brown eyes slide off their target to gaze questioningly into tormented blue eyes.

"I'll do it." Miranda isn't crying and her voice doesn't crack. Andy hesitates once more. But, ultimately, hands the weapon over.

The gun feels heavy in the former editor's hand. She breathes deeply and walks a few paces away from the brunette.

The creature's moans increase in excited expectancy of a meal that's approaching it.

Miranda raises the gun, "Goodbye, old friend." The suppressor on the weapon ensures the bullet leaves the barrel silently making the crumpling of the creature seem like a marionette whose strings are cut by the puppeteer.

"Oh, Nige," Andy chokes out.

"Wait here," Miranda's voice is emotionless as she drops the gun.

The brunette picks up and holsters the weapon before kneeling next to a man she loved so very much. His glasses are still miraculously on his face; crooked and cracked but still there. She removes them gently, folds them, and puts them in his coat pocket. There's no room for sentimentality in the world as it is now, but Andy looks at him and her heart aches. "Thank you," she whispers fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, "thank you for saving her. For saving all of us."

At the sound of footsteps, Andy rises. Miranda hands her a shovel. No words are spoken as they dig the grave. No words are spoken as they move the body. No words are spoken as they finally bury Nigel Kipling.

Miranda doesn't cry.

The sun is setting and night is falling.

They clear the house quickly and quietly.

They barricade doors and windows before moving to the upper floor and barricading the door to the room they occupy for the night. Flipping a light switch and being pleasantly surprised they have electricity, each woman moves efficiently through the room checking what they can and cannot use. The young woman moves to the bed and finds the mattress and sheets clean after removing the dusty comforter. The older woman moves to the adjoining bathroom, returning a few minutes later.

"I checked the water pressure," Miranda's voice is quieter than usual when she finally speaks, "the shower should work."

"Miranda," Andy's voice is rough from crying and disuse.

The older woman shakes her head; she's not ready to talk about Nigel. "Andrea," her voice is soul weary, "go shower."

The young woman acquiesces easily knowing the former editor needs a few moments alone. When Andy is done, Miranda silently goes into the bathroom. The brunette sighs as she hears the click of a lock on the closed door. She hangs her washed clothes to dry on the furniture and slips naked into the bed. Her eyes close in exhaustion as she waits.

Andy wakes at the feel of hot breath on her neck and a naked body molded to her back. "Hey," she whispers curling her hand around the one around her waist. The young woman tries to control her breathing and temper her reaction to the older woman's _very_ naked proximity. But, it's hard. It has been so long since they've had enough privacy to be completely naked together. Most of the time they have to steal moments and be quick and quiet when surrounded by so many people. She's torn about wasting this small window of absolute privacy but she knows she needs to let the former editor mourn her best friend.

"Nigel was my oldest and dearest friend," Miranda's fingers trace abstract patterns on the brunette's stomach as she speaks. Andy shivers then grits her teeth and consciously tries to staunch her mounting desire by expelling a long, slow breath. But at the feel of teeth nipping at her neck followed by a hot tongue soothing away the sting, the brunette loses the last vestiges of her control. She whimpers as aching need settles low in her abdomen and wetness coats her thighs. "But he's dead," the soft voice sounds pained, "and we're alive."

Miranda's fingers don't err as they slide into Andy. The young woman's whimpers turn into continual moans. The brunette bites her bottom lip to keep from being too loud; she's already embarrassingly close to release. "We're alive, Andrea. And, that's all that matters," Miranda bites down on the brunette's shoulder and presses her finger deeply into her. Andy groans and convulses against the older woman.

Her limbs feel heavy and her breathing is still short and shallow, but the young woman has to touch the older woman. She turns. And, Miranda is crying. The brunette knows in that moment that they left the safety of their little island full of other survivors to come and bury Nigel. They came because Miranda couldn't leave her best friend a walking corpse. And in that moment Andrea Sachs falls more deeply in love with an incredibly caring Miranda Priestly. Andy knows without a doubt that she would do what Nigel did to keep her safe; she would risk a fate worse than death for her. There's no room for sentimentality in the world as it is now, but that's all the young woman has ever been and all she will ever be, so she takes the older woman in her arms and kisses her like the former editor is the center of her universe.

"I love you, Miranda," Andy whispers her brown eyes shining with the intensity of that love, her hands moving to demonstrate, "and that's all that matters."

The sun has set. And night has fallen. And the world is dead. But they are alive and incandescent and impossibly in love. The noose tightens and threatens their existence, but they endure. Their life that much more beautiful because of its evanescence.


End file.
